Crossing Borders (17 page)

“Oh, keep me,” moaned Tristan. “Please,
please
, keep me.” He pressed hard against Michael's side, wrapping his arms around Michael's neck. “Never felt like that. Not ever.”

“Me neither, never before you.” It didn't matter if he said it or not, thought Michael, who didn't believe in playing lover's games anyway. “It's as if my whole life started at Borders last week when I looked into your eyes and thought…maybe.”

“Yeah…maybe…” Tristan smiled. Michael kissed each of his eyes in turn and sighed. His Sparky was drifting, melting into him, and starting to breathe deeply and evenly.

“Love you,” he whispered, when he was sure Tristan was sound asleep. “Love you so much, Sparky.” He didn't play games, but maybe he'd hold on to that a little longer by himself. “Love you…”

Sighing, Michael drifted off to sleep himself.

* * *

The fire was cold, and Michael was alone on the futon when he awoke. He found the clock on the wall and discovered it was barely six in the morning. Somewhere in the house, water was running, and he got up to find the source of the noise. When he got to the bathroom, Tristan was just getting out of the shower. He looked so gorgeous standing there that for a minute Michael just sucked in a breath and stared at him. Michael handed him a large, fluffy towel.

“Hey, baby,” said Michael, wrapping his arms around Tristan, who shyly covered his nudity. “What's up?”

Tristan tucked his head into Michael's neck. “Nothing,” said Tristan, like a guilty grammar school kid. “Last night was pretty intense, huh?”

Michael's blood froze. “Hey…regrets?” He couldn't bear it if Tristan said yes.
Please, oh, please
, he thought,
don't say yes
.

“Oh, hell no, that was the best.”

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. “Then what?” he asked, helping to fuzzle Tristan's long hair dry with the towel.

“It's like I have no idea who I am anymore,” said Tristan. “Who the hell
was tha
t
?”

“I don't know, but he's like…the porn fairy…and I'm not letting him get away.” Michael grinned. “You are so hot, Tristan. Made me see stars.”

“Liked that, did you?”

“I don't know. Maybe we'll have to try again. For reference, you know. Establish a control group.”

“Oh, hey, I can do control,” said Tristan. “Although before last night, I wouldn't have said…”

“Yeah…damn, baby.” Michael sighed.

“You shower, and I'll make breakfast. You've got stuff to cook?”

“Of course. No running the water in the kitchen while I shower, though, or I'm the one that's going to get cooked.”

“Gotcha. Never fear, if I forget, I'll just clarify some butter, in case you get boiled like a lobster.”

“Um, that actually sounds…kind of hot,” Michael said, thinking of being buttered.

“Fine, I'm on it.” He left the bathroom, grinning at Michael's half-hard cock.

Michael turned on the water, wishing he could have showered with Tristan, but as he got in and the water pounded his slightly sore muscles, he thought a little “me” time was probably good for both of them. For a moment there, he'd thought Tristan regretted… It was amazing how one smile from Tristan could change how he felt about everything. He used a scrubby puff to soap up, liking the scrape and scratch of the nylon against his sensitive skin. After the night he'd had with Tristan, every cell in his body was awake and on fire.

Water ran over Michael's head, rinsing shampoo out of his hair. The little knots of tension in his body eased. In here with his private thoughts, he could acknowledge that he was a goner where Tristan was concerned. He was in love, deeply, for the first time. As if fate were playing a sick joke, the water turned cold just as he admitted that to himself, and he cursed, turning it off. He toweled off, glad the mirrors were steamy so he couldn't see his face. In his room, Michael put on the casual clothes he reserved for Saturday mornings, adding an extra long-sleeved T-shirt for warmth, and went to find Tristan.

Tristan was in the well-lit kitchen, wearing an apron, oven mitts, boxer briefs, and a shameless smile. He was dancing to music from the small under-cabinet radio Michael kept for listening to the news. Toast popped in the toaster, and Tristan, still dancing, buttered it, slicing and arranging it on a plate. He didn't notice Michael standing in the doorway at first, and when he did, he stopped in his tracks, holding the butter knife like a shield.

“Hey, how long have you…” That gorgeous blush once again stained him.

“Long enough to see that the 'porn fairy' is in the hizzle.”

“Oh.” Tristan looked down.

“To date, this is my very best morning ever.”

“Really?”

“Mmmhmm.” Michael leaned against the doorframe to watch. “Yep, breakfast and a show.”

“
Oh
.” Tristan smoothed his hair back with the oven mitts. The little shit.

“Mmmhmm.” Michael just waited.

“So.” Tristan peeked into the oven and then slyly back over his shoulder at Michael, whose hot and hungry gaze was fastened on him like heavy-duty Velcro. “You like what you see?”

“Yes,” said Michael. “I like it very much.”

“What, this?” Tristan smoothed the oven mitts over his torso. “You like this?”

“Mmmhmm.”

Tristan sort of worked it, grinding in his apron, running the oven mitts over his body. “This?”

“Yep,” said Michael thickly. He was torn between laughter and bending Tristan over the kitchen table and showing him that bad boys get spanked. The oven timer beeped, and Tristan went to take out the food, whatever it was that he was cooking.

“Saved by the beep,” said Tristan. “Voilà, an egg thingie.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Michael, taking in the baked omelet that Tristan was putting on the plate. “Can we revisit the show later?”

“Oh…um, sure,” said Tristan, that damned adorable blush lighting him up like fire. “I liked that.”

“Makes me hot, Sparky.” Michael took a piece of toast and a kiss. “Lights me right up.”

“Good. Me too.” He cut the omelet into serving pieces. “I used the leftover ham.” He handed Michael a bowl of cut-up apples.

“Mm, this is good,” said Michael, wishing he could spend all his mornings like this. “After breakfast I need to water the backyard, and then I thought maybe you'd like to go for a ride.”

“A ride?” Tristan's eyes went round. “Like on your cock again?”

Michael snorted. “No. A
ride
. Maybe out the canyon road and then to apple country? Get a little fresh air. I'm on shift tonight, but I have the morning, and then I'll need to nap before I go.”

Tristan smiled. “That sounds nice. Can I help in the yard?”

“Nah, I have sprinklers. We can just…play,” said Michael, who paused, the food in his mouth going unchewed for a minute. He swallowed hard. “Have I told you how much I love looking at you, Sparky?”

“If you did, you can still say it again.” Tristan took Michael's hand and brought it to his lips. “Never hurts to clarify.”

Michael pulled Tristan in for a kiss. “I
love
looking at you.”

They finished their breakfast in silence, meeting each other's eyes and smiling like idiots.

At eight a.m. Tristan and Michael wandered to the back to water. Like Michael, Tristan wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt in the crisp morning air. He watched silently as Michael used a metal wand to spin the X-shaped sprinkler fixtures, turning on the water.

“It's already late October, so I don't have to do this very often,” he said, nodding his head toward the yard. “I have a gardener who comes weekly to mow and keep things tidy; he does both yards—mine and my mom's.”

“Oh,” said Tristan, looking around and spotting a basketball. Michael had a hoop permanently set into the cement on his side of the drive, the area between the two houses a perfect square of cement for a little one-on-one. “I think this is nice,” he said. “A great find, two houses like this together.”

“It originally belonged to a set of twins,” said Michael, laughing. “I shit you not, these guys lived next door to each other and raised their families together. It seemed…cool. When I bought it, I thought it would be a great place for me and my mom.”

“It's perfect—private, but still connected,” said Tristan. “Hey, let's move the cars and play b-ball while you water. How long does it take, anyway?”

“I let the sprinklers run for about a half-hour. I only do it twice a week so I soak it.” He pulled his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “I'll move mine, and then you move yours, okay?”

“Okay,” said Tristan, already getting into the driver's seat of his car. He watched Michael drive out between the two houses, making a mental note to back in next time like Michael did. If there
was
a next time…
Holy shit
. He parked his car in front of the house.

Michael was…everything Tristan had ever wanted. Everything he'd imagined, and some things he hadn't even known to believe in. How could he ever walk away not knowing if he was coming back, as he had so many times with Viper and the girls he'd dated?
I'll call you. Holy shit
. He saw Michael in his rearview mirror, confidently parking that huge truck of his behind Tristan's BMW, and hoped he could hang onto him. He got out of his car and joined Michael, smiling, listening as the man explained the shape these houses were in when he bought them.

“So I had to gut them completely, and that gave me all kinds of room for creativity,” he was saying. “I had a blast putting in the moldings and the cabinets, even though it took me almost two years to do it in my off hours.”

Tristan stopped in his tracks. “
You
did that?”